Simon Bricker
by ohtobealady
Summary: Compilation of speculative Simon Bricker drabbles (from my tumblr blog, as I'm archiving some of my more linear drabbles) *Season 5 Spoilers, most only speculative in nature*
1. Irritable

Close quarters had everyone on edge, but none more than Mary and Robert. Mary had snapped at everyone all day long. Her father hadn't been much better, clearing his throat in frustration, crunching his paper and leaving rooms without notice.

Cora herself had been rather irritable, even raising her voice at Robert two nights ago. She couldn't remember what it had been about, but it didn't matter. She realized that now. So tonight she was quiet. The darkness of her thoughts kept her more occupied than comfortable. Suffocating, really, observing the conversation around her with little interest.

"And what did the man say?" Mary lifted her brows, her voice terse, even squeaking in frustration. "How much longer does he expect the restoration to last? The fire didn't damage every room!"

Robert finished the swallow of his brandy. "He couldn't say." He poured another.

"But isn't that his job?"

Robert threw back his chin, squaring his shoulders. "One would bloody well think! The sooner I get out of London and back to Downton, the better."

Cora could feel Edith cowering in the corner. She looked at her middle child, the girl more sad and bitter than ever before. Logic told her she sympathized, but Cora could feel nothing. Nothing but the weight of her thoughts.

"Oh, but cousin Robert." Rose had become a mediator, a softer soul. "It is rather nice to be in the city before the season opens, yes? Enjoy the spoils of London without the regular crowd?"

Robert didn't answer, but Rose continued softly.

"And I think we've all enjoyed ourselves. Mary's been to tea with Mr. Blake only just today. And then out with Tony. You've been to the club. Cora's been to the gallery." She looked over at Cora, smiling. "I say it has been a nice distraction."

Cora didn't move a single muscle. She only stared and listened.

"And that's another thing," Robert turned on their dark haired daughter. "I think perhaps you should be more discreet with your love affairs. This family is already a topic of gossip thanks to Lady Anstruther."

The entire room grew silent as they all held their breath. Mary's jaw fell slack. "My what?"

Robert nearly responded, but Mary did not allow it.

"Papa, you aren't serious. You can't be. I've been married, Papa. Married. I believe I'm entitled to a little leniency regarding courtship."

He moved to speak again, but like before, Mary spoke instead.

"And as far as Lady Anstruther goes, I can't believe she's caused our family any gossip. What she's done isn't so extreme, is it?"

Cora remembered Lady Anstruther as she left the following morning. She remembered Robert's face as he whispered to her what he'd seen in the hurry of the flames. She couldn't help but think of their own night, their anniversary night, how they'd fallen asleep only half an hour after they entered their room.

Robert's eyes grew wide. "Do you think it right for a lady to take a man, a man she is not married to, to bed?"

Cora watched Mary closely. "Oh, Papa. I won't say that, but it isn't like it used to be…things are changing."

"She's a slut, Mary."

All of the women in the room, Cora included, took a breath in. Tom looked down at Isis and back around at the women.

"Slut?"

Robert took a sip from his glass. "I feel no need to explain."

"She's an adult."

Robert shook his head.

"She isn't selling herself on the street…"

"Oh, Mary," Rose laughed; tried to intervene. She was glared at and ignored.

"I don't understand why men can have as many partners as they choose, but a woman has to refrain," Mary stood up. "It isn't like she's young and foolish, Papa. She's a woman capable of making her own choices. I don't think that very well makes her a slut."

"It isn't-"

"Things aren't as they used to be. And for good reason! How unfair that a man can be with whomever he chooses without the slur of a name! I dare to bet you've had more partners than just Mama! And she," Mary threw a glance at her. Cora was sure her face was stained red. "She's never known anyone but you! I doubt she's ever kissed another man."

"Nor will she ever!" Robert's voice thundered against the walls of the room, his annoyance evident in its strain. "She's my wife! Why would she have any business kissing anyone else?"

Cora's face was on fire. Hot bile rose in the back of her throat, and she stood. Every pair of eyes looked at her as she clutched her hands for just a moment before moving toward the door.

"Mama?"

She heard Mary's call behind her and felt Edith watch her as she passed, but she would not stay and listen. Cold sweat threatened her flushed brow and she stepped earnestly up the stairs, gripping the railing and touching, with shaking fingers, her burning lips.


	2. Failed

Upstairs, in their room, she sat at the vanity while Baxter unraveled the pile of hair stacked at her head. Cora watched it come down, a little at a time, and she silently wished her maid would move even more slowly. Baxter's slender, practiced fingers felt decidedly comforting in Cora's hair, and she looked down at her own hands lying in her lap. Her eyes studied them for a moment, the growing thinness of her skin, before catching the golden glint of her wedding band in the lamplight. The earlier comfort evaporated instantaneously and she looked up into the mirror, watching her dark locks tumble down again.

The dividing door opened with a small click and Cora saw Robert's reflection in the mirror. He hadn't yet looked her way, but rather rearranged the books he held in his hands, finally setting all but one on a table near a creamy colored settee.

"Will that be all, my lady?" Baxter's soft words startled Cora and she nodded suddenly, without checking her braid. She opened her mouth to thank her, but couldn't produce a sound.

Her maid stood still for a moment afterward, though, and furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "Good night, my lady," she finally said, whispering really, and Cora heard her tell Robert the same on her way through the door. Another metallic click, and they were alone.

Maid gone and Robert so near, Cora didn't move from her spot. Not for a while. She heard the tired and familiar movements of her husband behind her: disrobing, climbing into their bed, opening a densely creaking book, flipping through fluttering pages. The noises she'd heard for years, decades, and her throat constricted as she thought of days past.

"I need to say something."

The noises stopped as she spoke, the silence louder than she anticipated. She pulled in deep breaths but couldn't yet turn to him.

Robert rustled in the sheets. "Yes?"

When she didn't respond, the rustling ceased. Expectancy filled their room.

She pulled in her trembling hands toward her sides and willed herself to turn. There he was, greying hair, softening chin, but the same broad shoulders. The same blue eyes that she had gazed into a thousand times over.

_I kissed Simon Bricker. I kissed Simon Bricker. I kissed Simon Bricker._

The thought raced through her mind and pulsated on her tongue, but she couldn't say it aloud.

It had been a mistake. She'd even tried to say so to him afterward, after he had been so flattering and after he had leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. For only a fleeting moment, as he had leaned in, there was the smallest sensation of a thrill. But then it had happened, his lips on hers, and it wasn't his face that had sprung to her mind. It was Robert's. It wasn't the present she had felt, but the past, the first kiss that she and Robert shared. In the garden. She had been the one to lean in then. Next came the sickening drop of her heart into her stomach, and she tasted the kiss afterward. She was disgusted. It had been wrong.

"I won't apologize for what I said." Cora closed her mouth that she hadn't realized was opened. She listened to him. "I won't retract it. That woman can do any scandalous thing she chooses, but I'd rather if my family were not associated with it."

She watched him bring the sheet further upon his lap, resting his book atop it.

"And before you say anything about it, Mary can have her own opinions, however disappointing, and I will keep mine." He tilted the book up and looked into it, saying more to it than her, "Lady Anstruther indeed. She's no lady."

Her ears were ringing. Time passed, but she wasn't sure the length.

He closed the book and heaved a breath in the way that beckoned her beside him. Not in a desirous way, but a routinely way. A way that meant he couldn't go to bed without her near him, not because he wanted her there, but because that's what he was accustomed to. She rose, swallowing her guilt and nerves, and folded herself beneath the covers and by his side.

Wordlessly he rolled to his side to switch off his lamp and the room was covered in darkness. He nestled down. Cora stayed still.

Moments ticked by, but neither were asleep yet, Cora lying flat on her back, Robert beside her, his back to her.

Quiet, quiet, and then, she spoke. She said it softly, but it was ladened with meaning. It was heavy as it fell from her lips. "Perhaps she longs to feel wanted."

More silence. Deafening silence until at last, "She would do better with a charity." He punched the pillow into shape beneath his head and tossed the next words above him and toward her, "They're always in want of volunteers."

For some reason, that hurt. She bit her lip.

In the darkness, it grew. The hole she felt. The yearning.

Cora could hear his rhythmic breathing and she pulled in a breath of her own. She knew better than to ask. She knew she shouldn't even think it, much less go through with it. It was sinful. But then, sometimes one does things one knows are bad just to hurt oneself.

"Mr. Bricker's invited me to an exhibit. Tomorrow evening." She swallowed. "Do you want me to stay instead?"

She felt him reposition himself and sigh. "No. Go." He settled further into their covers. "I'll be at the club."

The test was over. There were no questions, no speculations, no clarifications needed. Come to think of it, he never asked what she had needed to say. And then, he never even asked why she had left the drawing room the way she had and suddenly, and furiously, Cora fought back the tears that she had trained to keep dry. He had forgotten to even say good night.

Tests. All tests. And he had failed.


	3. Rain

Another smudge of lipstick, another press of her lips, and she was dressed. She stood from the vanity, straightened out her dress, and thanked Baxter who nodded silently.

"And Baxter," Cora pushed a small handkerchief further into her clutch, "please let His Lordship know when I've gone that I've left early to beat the rain."

She looked up at her maid, prepared to hear the "Yes, my lady" or "Very good, your Ladyship" that was so often uttered. But there was nothing. Baxter only stared, barely blinking until at last, quietly, she answered.

"If you wish, Lady Grantham."

Inexplicably frozen, Cora tried to ignore the hitch of breath, the sharpness in her chest that she felt at the name Grantham. She stared back at her maid, and then nodded before leaving her room.

Downstairs seemed to have been abandoned, but she was glad of it. No need to explain. No need to feign innocence. For that she was thankful because she wasn't sure that she could. When she had mentioned going with Mr. Bricker again, the girls had looked up incredulously.

"Again?" Mary raised her brows. "Are you certain that's wise?"

"Wise?" She breathed out. "And why shouldn't it be?" She had waved her hand and picked up her tea cup suddenly, in order to busy herself. She had instantly regretted it. She should have just laughed. She was a terrible liar.

Mary held her cup still, the other two girls looking between she and her mother. "Mama, don't you feel at all uncomfortable with him?"

Cora continued to look at Mary, but had heard the crumble of Robert's paper. "No." She looked at her cup. "I feel very comfortable, thank you."

Robert hadn't said a word, but his paper, Cora noticed, had been put to the side for the remainder of their tea. And now, hours later, she saw it lying on the buffet by the stairs.

"You look very nice." Robert's voice surprised her and she looked at his figure as he came toward her. She took in a breath.

"What?"

He smiled before he grabbed the paper, looking back at her, "I said you look nice." He held his paper still, and he met Cora's eyes. He held them there until Carson spoke.

"Mr. Bricker, my lady."

Both she and Robert turned to him, slightly startled, and then to Bricker who came through, smiling, his hat crooked and his coat buttoned once. Cora could feel Robert's gaze on her smile.

"Lord Grantham, how very generous you are to allow me to steal away your lovely wife," he held out an arm for her to grasp. She did. "And now I'm afraid we must go, pleasantries aside, before it begins to rain."

"Haven't you driven?" Robert knitted his brow, looking at Cora briefly.

Bricker pulled her in more closely. "Oh, of course. But then there's the trouble of getting out in all the weather. Yes, much better to leave at once." He grinned. "Don't you think, Lady Grantham?"

She didn't appreciate that, the way he had somehow undermined Robert, but Cora agreed and brought her eyes back to her husband. He stood awkwardly with the paper folded in his hand while she held onto another man's arm. The sight of him standing there made her hurt. Physically hurt.

Mr. Bricker turned, with a small tug, but she remained steadfast, her eyes still on Robert.

"Have a nice time at the club," she offered another hushed smile, but he didn't take it.

There was only a shake of his head and a rather mumbled, "No, no, I've changed my plans." Another stop of her lungs.

"Very well, good night," Mr. Bricker rushed and pulled her arm. She followed submissively, letting her eyes linger on Robert until they were outside.

Bricker opened his car door for her himself, and she ducked inside, sliding along the seat to the window. He quickly came to her side, again clutching her arm. She felt suddenly very claustrophobic. She opened the top of her coat, and hoped he wouldn't notice, but he did.

"I thought perhaps we'd stop at my place for a while."

Cora glanced upward to him. "A while?"

"There's something I'd very much like you to…see."

Her heart was beating madly. "But," she swallowed, "won't we be late to the exhibit?"

Her voice was met with laughter. "Oh, Cora." An acidic turn of her stomach accompanied her name. He shouldn't call her that. "There is no exhibit." His laughter trailed off at her apparent perplexity. "You understood that, didn't you?"

She blinked and then shook her head, her brows furrowing. "No." She looked at her lap. "No, no. Simon…" She shook her head again. "Mr. Bricker." She took in a deep breath. "This isn't right."

He leaned forward.

She continued and found his eyes again. "I can't. I…I can't. I'm…I'm married."

He laughed. "I'm well aware of that." He was leaning in too closely, his fingertips touched her chin to lift her face. "But isn't that what makes it that much more exciting?"

There was a grin and glint in his eyes and then he kissed her, but unlike before, it was met with a recoil and a jerk of her head.

"Stop."

But he didn't. He shook his head, simpering. "Oh sweet, beautiful Cora…" He brought his lips closer and she turned away. His fingertips remained and pulled her back.

His face was harder. "You wanted this."

She shook her head, but it was true. Tears began to blur her eyes.

"You called me. You accepted my invitation. You kissed me!" He was raising his voice.

"Let me out."

"He doesn't care," His fingers had moved to her wrist and they were gripping her, holding her in place.

"Let me out!" she said louder, and the driver stopped. She could hear the tip tap of rain, but she opened the door regardless.

Bricker's face was stunned. "Cora? Cora, what are you doing?"

Rain was falling steadily, but she began walking in the direction of the door of Grantham House. They hadn't driven far at all. The door was just there, in sight. Another grip on her arm.

"Stop. Come back in the car."

She shook her head at him. "No, let go of me."

"I want you." The rain was growing heavier with each drop, and likewise his grip on her wrist grew stronger. "He doesn't, not like me. He's tired of you."

"Stop." She pulled away and walked forward and into the rain. She could hear him behind her, even as she climbed the steps to the door. She gripped the knob, not bothering to wait for Carson.

"He's had dalliances." His words stopped her, another grab of her wrist, and she spun around. The rain was pattering around them. "My God, Cora. Do you honestly think he's had none but you? Do you?"

Cora shook her head, swallowing, blinking. Raindrops were heavier than before. "It's a lie." She opened the door, but he pulled her around again, whispering hoarsely and vehemently.

"He's had others. He's loved others. Perhaps even now…" He stepped toward her.

"Don't…"

"What does he tell you, hmm? When you're alone?" Cora leaned away from him, the door creaked again. "That he loves you? Does he say that?"

She held onto the knob, her lip was quivering.

Then he shouted. "Does he!"

In the next instant, the knob was pulled from Cora's hand and Bricker's face transformed into one of complete shock and fear.

"Lord Grantham," Bricker stuttered, tried a grin, and then stepped backward.

"Inside, Cora." He said it flatly, but emphatically, never taking his eyes off of the man before him.

Cora's emotions were boiling over. "Robert-"

"Inside!" With a deep shout, he had met her eyes. He was fuming.

Cora silently moved past his body, standing then in the foyer, awkwardly overlooking through the crack he left in the door.

Bricker started mumbling something, an excuse, an explanation, but Robert's voice stopped him.

"If you ever, EVER, come back into our home, I will personally throw you out."

"My lord…"

Robert stepped forward. "If you ever speak to her that way again, I will make it so you cannot speak to anyone ever again."

"But she…"

"And if you touch her," Robert's voice was a growl. "You will have no doubts of my love for her, whatsoever, for how ever deeply I feel for her, I will hurt you." He leaned again. "And I feel very, very deeply for my wife."

Cora retreated further into the foyer until Robert came back in. He turned as he closed the door and slowly, very slowly, he looked up.

They found the other's eyes and stood silently there. The rain echoed in the quiet between them.


	4. Family

They stood there for what seemed like years, Cora's eyes wet, but silent. His own seemed to be wet as well, the blues of them swimming in the thickness at his lids. But silent, his were not. They seemed to scream at her, to ask her why, to beg her to tell him what on earth he had witnessed and to please then lie and say it wasn't true. But it was.

"Robert-"

That was enough. One small sound of her voice had him longing to go further into the house, up the stairs, and presumably to his dressing room. She stood there as he determinedly passed her, calling his name, asking him to please listen, to let her explain, even though she wasn't sure that she could.

"It was only a kiss. It didn't mean anything!"

He had whirled around, his face grave, etched with the lines of their years together. "How can you say that?"

She blinked, swallowing a breath.

"How can you say it didn't mean anything?" He took two steps toward her, his voice, although steady, filled the space they stood in. It echoed off the walls and around the stairs. "How can you say that?"

"Because it didn't, Robert. It didn't and does not mean anything-"

"It means something to me!" A shout. A shout, but devoid of any anger. Pure sadness. No, not sadness. Disappointment. "You kissing him, Cora…" he dropped his voice, shaking his head, "it means something. It means quite a lot. To me."

Her tears fell freely then, and she tried to croak out something to make him stop, something to make him turn around, but he didn't. He stormed up the stairs and a door slammed behind him.

Cora soon followed, quietly slipping into her room - their room - and into her bed - their bed. She crawled into the covers, crying, much like a girl and not like the countess she was. She cried and cried until, at last, her body exhausted itself, and she fell asleep curled in the bed. Her face was buried in the pillows, her hand grasped at the handkerchief she had merely an hour before stuffed into her purse.

One of the things she hated most of all 34 long years ago was the polite lack of feeling she learned she must always express. To be stoic was to be proper. And no one knew this more than her husband, Robert.

So now as days passed, and then weeks, the facade became easier. They pretended to not mind sitting near one another while in the car. They were civil at dinner and even afterward, wishing the other a good night before everyone to see. And even when they arrived, at last, back at Downton, Cora gave no objection to Mary's suggestion of a party. A dinner party, with dancing afterward. Robert hadn't exactly approved, but he hadn't said no, and so the planning had commenced and then, the day had arrived.

Cora fiddled with her necklace upstairs in her room, a nervous habit she had long since rid herself of, but somehow it had resurfaced. She stilled her hand, stretching her fingers straight and placed it in her lap, using the other to pick up a glass bottle of perfume. She opened it, about to press the stick to her neck and wrists when there was a soft knock at her door.

She twisted and looked at it, her mind immediately listing those she thought it could be. Baxter. Mary. Edith. Rose…Robert? Robert.

Was it him? She found herself hoping against hope, but shook her head before she distressed herself yet again. There was another knock and Cora realized she had stopped her breaths. She pulled one in quietly and called, "Come in."

A crack at the door, and then a face.

"May I come in?"

Cora straightened her back. "Mama?" Her jaw fell slack. "Of course."

She stood as Violet came inside, shuffling a bit and leaning on her cane. When she noticed how Cora stood, she wiggled her fingers, a way to suggest that she be again seated. She did as she was bid.

"Is everything alright?" Cora watched her mother-in-law perch upon the chair nearest her. The chair Robert had so often sat in while she dressed.

Violet didn't answer immediately. She simply looked at Cora with a lifted chin.

"It seems to me," she began, now readjusting her cane, "that that is the very question I should be asking you." She met Cora's eyes once again, this time firmly locking them in place.

Cora was taken aback. She couldn't lie. She couldn't hide it. But she would try. "Whatever do you mean?" She reached for another bottle on her vanity.

Violet wagged her head impatiently. "My dear, there is no denying that something has happened, so please, let's not make this harder than it needs to be."

Cora could feel herself shaking her head, swallowing, thinking of something to say. "I-"

"Has it ended?"

Cora found it difficult to pull in breaths. She replaced the bottle. "Wh-" she closed her mouth and eyes before trying again. "I don't know what you-"

"The nonsense with Bricker."

Now Cora couldn't breathe. "How-"

"How did I know?" Violet tilted her head condescendingly. "How didn't I? I've known you since you were quite young, my dear, following Robert around in a love sick daze. I'm afraid there isn't much you can hide from me…" She rotated her stick, "especially the way you had been flaunting the affair around like new jewels."

There was a quick sharpness in her chest. Tears immediately sprung to the back of her eyes, burning them. Affair. The word hit her like an arrow.

"But now," Violet still spoke. "I'd like to know if you've quite finished."

She tucked in her hands, and she lowered her eyes. Her face flushed hotly.

"Well, are you?"

She pressed her lips. "Yes," she whispered. And then her throat began to tighten.

"Good." Violet stood, leaning on her stick, and beginning for the door, but not before booming a command. "Then I expect you to be at Robert's side tonight. And I expect you to dance."

But, but Robert wouldn't dare. "I can't. I don't-"

Mama's eyes widened considerably. "You can, and you will."

Cora looked up to her, and her chest cramped at her expression. She thought that Cora was done. She thought that Cora felt nothing for Robert and that, that twisted sharply in her breast. Because she did. She did so very, very much and Simon was just…well, she wasn't sure what Simon had been.

"I don't love him."

Violet didn't move. Cora spoke again.

"Simon Bricker. I don't love him." Tears began to burn her eyes. "I don't even like him. I never did." And now came the sobs. "And Robert…" She took in a breath and a sniff. She shook her head. "I hurt him." Saying it aloud made the pain twist again in her chest. "I hurt him, and I'm sorry." Oh, God. She was. "I'm so, so sorry!"

Shoulders shaking, she gripped her stool to keep from falling over. Suddenly there was nothing there but bitter, bitter sorrow and the burn of regret. She didn't even notice Violet had come closer until she felt her hand, cold and steady, on her shoulder.

"My dear."

Cora looked up, trying, and failing, to contain her emotions.

"I do not doubt your feelings for Robert. Nor do I doubt you regret whatever it is you've done."

Panic. But it was nothing. "I-"

Violet held up her hand from Cora's shoulder. "Nor do I care to know what it is you've done. It doesn't matter." She brought the hand back to her stick and merely just stared for a moment. The longest moment Cora had felt in quite a while. "The matter is…" a sigh, "the matter is that Robert still loves you." Violet pushed out air. "And he will not be the one to admit it. So I will."

Cora saw her mother-in-law through blurred vision. A tear fell when she blinked. "I don't think so…" A new torrent of tears.

"Cora…"

"And…" Cora choked. "I don't deserve it."

Violet's snapped. "Stop that."

Cora looked up, quivering lip and all, to Violet.

"You deserve it. And please, for Heaven's sake, pull yourself together. I'm not here to argue."

Cora swallowed down a cry. She batted away tears, even wiping a few from her cheeks. She shook her head. "Then why are you here?"

Violet swallowed as well. She said it softly, delicately, and so very full of love. "I'm here to mend my family."


	5. Dance

Violet's words from earlier lingered around Cora's ears.

He still loved her.

Though he hadn't said so, he still loved her. Though they hadn't been alone since that rainy afternoon, Violet seemed to be sure that Robert, in spite of everything, still loved her.

The words were all she could think of, the thought pounding away in her head as the party proceeded. They grew so loud that she found herself glancing up to him throughout cocktails, throughout dinner, throughout the conversations with their guests at their right and left. She found herself thinking more about after dinner than she was about the task at hand. Surely Violet had insisted he appear happy with his wife, or at least civil. But would he? Would he speak with her? Would he smile? Would he pretend, like she, that nothing was amiss, that they were as solid as they had always been? It had been difficult enough just amongst their immediate family, but now they were among so many people, so many happy couples. Would he do as Mama asked?

One more glance up, as Shrimpy talked on and on about India, one more glance up and over at Robert. At his mouth, the wave in his hair, his eyes. She stole one more glance and found, to her surprise, he had glanced up to her as well.

Eye contact. Accidental, but unmistakable, eye contact. The first in what may have been weeks. Candles flickered between them, the purples and dusky pinks of the centerpiece's flowers blurred in her periphery, but the blues of Robert's eyes were clear. And painfully familiar.

Cora heaved some breaths, steadying her nerves, before trying a small, timid, and perhaps even repentant, smile. He saw, stared, and then averted his gaze.

Forks and knives on porcelain, shimmering glasses of deep red claret, the smell of Mrs. Patmore's curried pheasant, and the murmur of company had faded quickly around her, had dulled, and had remained that way even now, as she watched her guests dance around the Great Hall. She spied her daughter, Mary, grinning as Tony spun her around. Rose was there, too, and then she saw Robert. He stood on the far side of the hall talking with Lady Shackleton. She watched him feign laughter, a practiced chuckle she'd seen time and time again, and she frowned. The last time she'd seen it was at the dinner that Simon had attended. He'd feigned laughter then, afterwards whispering to her how he found Mr. Bricker rather forward. And she had rolled her eyes.

Something brought her back to present and she jerked alertly, finding that Robert was looking directly at her. She blinked back, embarrassed, and uncharacteristically bashful. She wanted to look away. But then movement. He began to move toward her, and Cora felt her nerves prick up at the realization.

What had Mama said to him? What had she done to convince him of this, to come stand near her? Cora's heart thumped emphatically against her ribs until, at last, he was by her side. She forced herself to look at him and saw he observed her fingers as they turned a pearl on her necklace. She froze, dropping the necklace, ashamed that the habit was back and on display. When she peered back up at him, she saw a shadow of what appeared to be endearment, a telling softening around his eyes.

"Robert!" Shrimpy's voice interrupted, thick with wine. "You don't mind if I borrow Cora, do you, chap? I haven't danced in ages!"

Robert was silent, and he looked at her for a beat longer before shaking his head.

Cora forced a painfully delighted little smile as the music started again. She forced herself to look happy when in fact she could feel her heart swimming in her stomach. Drunken Shrimpy was grinning like a fool.

"Perhaps the next one."

Cora stilled her movements, her thoughts, her breath, and slowly brought her eyes to his, Robert's, who held his hand out to her.

And suddenly, it was their first year of marriage again. The butterflies and nervous swallow. The tender grasp of his hand. The way he led her to the floor. The weight of his fingers on her waist.

Cora had never heard the song, a new one, but stepped and swayed slowly along with her husband, following his lead.

She wanted to say something, but couldn't form the words. What was there to say that hadn't been shouted, whispered, cried, or said before? So she pressed her lips and let him spin her around in his arms, the simple thought of him holding her this close bringing her to the verge of tears. One small pull nearer and there was another sound, blending with the buzz of the noises around her: the slow jazz, the conversation of their family and friends. Another sound, and it was Robert's voice, a hum, a tune that kindled something in her breast, but what it was, she couldn't quite place. And closer still, the deep hum clearer, his hand warm through her dress, his scent comforting and alluring. What was the tune? The song? It tingled in her brain. He hummed over the jazz that played in the hall as he held her and they rotated dreamily with the music.

And then the song ended. There was soft clapping around them, the melody evaporating from the air, but they ignored it. They continued dancing. Robert held on, unmoved by the demand of propriety. His arm clung to her, his hand firmly in place.

For a moment, Cora was aware of others' eyes upon them, the heat of them uncomfortable, but then, she suddenly didn't care. She allowed her eyes to find his, and she listened to the hum, the steady rhythm, until he had finished. He stilled his movements and stared at her, searching her eyes for something she wasn't sure she knew. Then, like everyone around them, he had let go and clapped. A new song began, Shrimpy came nearer, and, in a blur, Cora was in another man's arms.

Shrimpy smelled like whiskey and cigars, and he talked about something that Cora paid no attention to. The only thing she could think of was the sound of the tune Robert hummed near her ear. It echoed in her mind, her memory trying to place it appropriately. Her heart knew before her thoughts. It conjured flutters in her chest, tugged at the corners of her lips, but what was it from? A waltz, yes. The 1-2-3 count played loudly in her ears. But where had she heard it?

And then, it struck her. Her mouth fell agape, and her heart skipped a beat, warming her entire chest. Not just a waltz. The waltz. The waltz he had first danced with her, thirty-five years ago. Thirty-five years ago when they were both so very young and she was so hopelessly in love with the boy who would one day be Earl. She pushed back the burn of tears. She was still so hopelessly in love.

Her eyes searched the hall for him, for the silhouette she knew by heart, and at last found him. Her husband. Her dear, sweet husband who still loved her. Her throat constricted at the thought. He still loved her.

She took a chance, while dancing with Shrimpy, and smiled again at Robert. Like before, it was timid and hopeful. But, unlike before, Robert returned it with a timid smile of his own.


	6. Fingertips

The gravel crunched under the last car as it pulled away. The goodbyes uttered to their guests still hung in the cool night air. They stood near each other watching the car grow smaller and smaller in the moonlight, the noises of the party now long since vanished and silence now slowly creeping up between them. But it was a different silence than before, a softer silence. It was a silence that reminded her of a thousand other nights like this one, nights when they'd say their farewells at the door and then Robert would grasp her hand and smile at her proudly - another party well executed, another job well done. But tonight would be different; tonight Robert wouldn't grasp her hand, and the acknowledgment of this set an ache in her fingers.

Cora swallowed away the thought and noiselessly sighed at the sadness she tasted. The incongruity of tonight threatened her composure. For she could feel Carson still behind them, standing at the door, waiting as he always did to take his leave. But then she could also sense the way Robert stood by her, unmoving and looking out into the night. The air around him strange and lost and so starkly different than any night before.

She dared herself to peer up at him, to capture his image in her mind to replace the current one there. The one where he was younger, brighter, smiling. The one that danced along with the waltz that now burned away in her ears. She remembered the night well, too well. How young they had been. How it felt to have his hand on her waist and to be spun around the room with him, countless eyes upon her, wondering who she was or if they already knew, whispering about her fortune. But she didn't care. Lord Downton held her in his arms, and his eyes were bluer than she remembered and shining.

What had happened to them? Her mind tumbled through the decades, through the smiles, dinners, and heartaches. Flashes of the years hammered away in her head - some milestones of their life together: discovery of her pregnancy with Edith, Mary's wedding, Sybil's first family dinner and how Mama had complimented her etiquette. Some moments seemingly mundane, but these seemed to clench at her heart even more. The sight of his eyes on hers across the table, communicating things that would be entirely too inappropriate to say aloud; the sound of the crackling leather saddle when he tried to teach her to ride only months into their marriage, the leaves around them browning with the season; the coldness of the water he'd brought from the washroom as she drank it down, his hand resting on her swollen abdomen, their baby moving beneath her skin. The present had dissipated, the past vividly painted before her eyes as she stared off into the stars around Downton.

The weight of his gaze brought her from her absorption, and she at last focused her eyes up at him. A moment passed between them, a moment on the edge of another. Was it a question, a smile, a kiss, a sigh? Whatever it was hid behind his eyes, only the heat of it letting her know it was there. It lingered, lingered, lingered, and Cora searched his eyes for it before it was abruptly extinguished. His gaze broke hers and he turned from her and went into their house, devoid of any anger, but heavy with the loss of whatever it had been.

She glanced back to the spot in the sky, as if the past would be there, but there was nothing. Nothing but the stars steadily shining and a deep darkness.

With a thick swallow, she too turned and forced herself inside; her shoes echoed on the wood of the floor.

"Good night, your Ladyship."

Carson's great booming voice wasn't loud. On the contrary it had been silken and sweet. Nevertheless, Cora had been startled. She pulled her lips into a tightlipped grin and responded with a nod.

"Shall I send up your maid, my lady?"

Cora took in his words, but shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "It's quite late now. Send her to bed."

Her butler nodded in understanding, probably more understanding than she even knew herself, and smiled in such a way that Cora felt as if he could see it, as if he could sense the tentative coldness between the Lord of the house and herself, the Lady.

"Very good, my lady."

She climbed the stairs, lifting her necklace from over her head as she entered her room, closing the door securely behind her. She slowly removed her things - gloves, earrings, shoes, stockings - and then pushed her fingers into her hair, feeling for the pins and taking them out one by one. Dark, loose waves fell down slowly, and she averted her gaze from the vanity's looking glass when the thought of how her hair had dulled over the years entered her mind. She didn't want to think any more of herself. Or her past. She just wanted sleep. Not sleep because she was tired, but sleep because it would be the only thing to silence the loudest thought of all: Robert.

Cora pushed herself from her chair and stood before the mirror, turning slightly to see her dress, to find the clasp. And there it was, two tiny shining black buttons between the nape of her neck and her shoulder blades. She craned her neck to see and then stretched her arms. She tried again. And again. And then again, but there was no use. She couldn't undo it.

And that was it. She saw her reflection, her evening gown still hanging on her body, and without warning the tears began to flow, to pour. There were no sobs, only tears, and she wiped them away with her hands.

Stop, stop, stop. She commanded her emotions, pleaded with them and just when she felt that control was again in her reach, the small sound of a click came from behind her.

She turned and saw him, Robert, standing partially in her room, shielding his heart with the dividing door.

Shocked and embarrassed, she blinked her tears away, turning her head back to the mirror and praying that…well, she didn't know. She only prayed. Perhaps that it had never happened? Perhaps that this had all been some horribly disturbing dream and that she'd wake six months earlier warm in Robert's embrace.

"I thought Baxter may still be with you," Robert's voice was quiet, but clear.

Cora shook her head, meeting his reflection in her mirror. "I sent her to bed." Her voice, although quiet, struggled through the words.

Robert stood still, the hand she could see hung limply by his side. He didn't move for moments more, and neither did she. Both just watched the other standing still, until he spoke again, this time even more quietly. "You're crying."

The fact said aloud brought on another bought of tears and her lip began to quiver anew. "It's only," she lied, "that I can't quite get the buttons. And I'm so tired." She sniffed and shook her head slightly, as if she could shake away the tremble of her heart. "I'm so tired." She said it again, to herself, the tiniest whisper barely big enough to reach her own ears.

But something else did reach them. She could hear him moving closer to her, but she was inexplicably afraid to look up at him. It was as though if she looked up he wouldn't really be there at all. But he was, and he was standing right behind her.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he brushed her hair from her back and to her shoulder, his movements measured and soft. And then his hands returned and the tug of her dress was there and then the slightest of touches on her skin. His fingertips.

Her lungs forgot to breathe, her heart forgot to beat. He had touched her. Lightly and perhaps mistakenly, but his fingertips had touched her skin.

Her senses amplified, she could hear his breath and feel his heat. His fingers lingered near her, unsure of where to go, until at last, her arm. He turned her, slowly. He turned her until she stood before him, and Cora had no choice but to look up into his eyes. Bluer than she remembered and shining.

Oh, God. It was useless to pretend. "Robert-"

But before she could say more, he caught her lips in a kiss, a hard kiss, a desperate kiss, a kiss that spoke so loudly it screamed. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.

Her body responded to him, warmth flooding her, a burning tingle at her core, and she met his kiss with fervor.

Buttons were torn, dress and pajamas were ripped haphazardly and thrown to the floor. In an instant the bed was beneath her and Robert was above, kissing her, holding her, saying her name hungrily and it was so much more than she could possibly handle.

"I love you, I love you." It spilled out of her as he kissed her neck and groped her breast. "I love you."

There was a moan and then a push inside of her, and she bit her lip at the way she completely melted at the sensation.

He moved purposefully until he slowed, leaning on one arm, and lifted her chin up with steady fingertips.

"Look at me," he commanded. And she did.

He began to move again, his eyes completely lost in her own. He moved, slower and slower, still looking deep into her eyes and it broke her. Soon the tears from just minutes before came back but Cora's gaze remained on her husband's as he rocked above her.

Again another kiss, a softer one, a slower one. "Cora…"

He lifted himself and she noticed the wetness of his own eyes. He swallowed. "…my own beautiful Cora. My love. My love."


End file.
